Fic--Ashes
Title: Ashes
Author: foreverwriting9
Characters/Pairings: Castle/Beckett
Spoilers: For Watershed
Rating: G
Word Count: 2,044
Summary: All she can think as she stands there, hundreds of miles from everything she loves, is that this man has no idea what she’s given up.
-
Oh where do we begin?
The rubble or our sins?
And the walls kept tumbling down
In the city that we love.
Bastille, ‘Pompeii’
He doesn’t send her a copy of Deadly Heat, and she thinks that’s only fair. She broke his heart after all. She doesn't deserve anything more from him.
The review comes out four months to the day after he asked her to marry him, and she's sitting at her new desk in her new office staring at the newspaper like it might jump up and attack her. It takes her ten minutes to force her fingers along the edge of the newsprint and flip the pages until she reaches the spot where his picture rests under the headline Richard Castle Does It Again!
Beckett realizes that she's stopped breathing.
There's a sudden knock at her door.
"Yeah?" The word is strangled and rough in her mouth.
A young man sticks his head inside her office. "Hey, Beckett." For a moment he looks so much like Ryan, all blue eyes and slicked back hair, that something in her chest clenches painfully. "We're having a meeting down in 304."
She nods in acknowledgement, not trusting herself to speak again. He shuts the door after a brief pause and then wanders away. In the wake of his intrusion, the remaining silence is deafening, and as Beckett glances down at the article in front of her she wants to scream. This isn't what she wanted. She wanted-
She wanted more.
The word hangs in the air before her, traitorous and sharp. Beckett rubs her left ring finger, realizes what she’s doing, and pushes away from her desk. Three big steps and she’s standing by the door, finger curled loosely around the light switch as she glances around the room.
The afternoon sunlight spills through the large window on one side of the office, filtering through the curtains, and making rippling patterns across the plush carpet. From her vantage point by the door, Beckett can see the still unread article open on her desk, Castle's picture flashing white teeth and charm. She flinches, her gaze drifting up to the picture on the wall behind her desk. It's a blown up photograph of a staircase, similar to the one that graces his office, but not an exact replica.
She shakes her head, ignoring the pang of pure want that slides under her skin.
(Her office is spacious and glittering and not home.)
With one last look around, Beckett flicks off the lights and leaves the room, heading down the hallway, and slipping into a meeting she has no wish to be a part of.
She starts her portion of the meeting off by accidentally calling one of her colleagues Esposito, and she finishes by referencing procedure from the Twelfth out of habit. By the time she sits down, the room is suddenly too hot and everyone is casting weird glances her way. Mercifully, the meeting ends soon after that.
As people filter out of the room, a man, one of the senior agents, stops her. “Beckett.”
She can feel the curious looks slide over her, burning their way across her back. “Sir?”
He leans in closer to her, dropping his voice. “Is everything okay? You seemed a bit...” he trails off, searching for the right words, “out of it up there. Now I know you’re not really used to this kind of setting and all of this was a very sudden change for you. I know you gave up a lot to be here-”
Beckett stares at him, watching his mouth move but not hearing anything else he has to say. All she can think as she stands there, hundreds of miles from everything she loves, is that this man has no idea what she’s given up. She has this sudden, vivid image of slipping under a line of crime scene tape, Castle’s solid presence close behind her and a coffee cup warm in her hands. Everything is golden and soft-edged and she knows that if they just keep walking, they will come upon Esposito and Ryan and Lanie and a body, and everything will be normal again.
The senior agent’s words cut through the picture. “I guess I’m just asking if you’re all right. Everyone here enjoys having you on board, but-” He stops himself, but even with most of her mind on some anonymous street in New York, she can fill in the gaps.
She’s not fitting in. She’s not even really trying. He doesn’t have to say it out loud.
Beckett steps away from him, loosening her grip on the chair in front of her. “I’m fine,” she says, proud of the way the words come out. Steady. Firm. Like she doesn’t spend every second wishing she was back behind her desk at her precinct with Castle’s ring on her finger.
He nods after a moment, but doesn’t look completely convinced. “If you say-”
“Really, I’m fine.” She sounds less sure this time, the words starting to crack in her mouth. She turns, dropping her gaze from his and reaching down to grab her folder and notepad. “I should be going now, sir. I have paperwork.” Beckett doesn’t wait for him to say anything in response, simply spins around and walks out of the conference room, head held high.
By the time she returns to her office, something curiously like heartbreak has begun gnawing away at her stomach.
It isn’t until four hours later that she finally reads the Deadly Heat review.
She swings the door to her new (too white, too clean, Castle-less) apartment open, throws her bag down, and wanders into the kitchen. The refrigerator is empty, her sink seems to have decided to stop working, and Beckett desperately wants to kick something.
It’s around that time that she notices the folded newspaper sticking out from between some case files in her bag. Panic itches its way up her spine. She can’t go on living like this. It’s too much like drowning. With a sigh, she leans down and pulls the paper from her bag. The ink has started to smudge in places, and it leaves the tips of her fingers black as she finds a seat and starts pulling the pages apart.
His dazzling smile greets her again.
“Castle.” It’s the first time she’s said his name in a very long time, and the word is warm in her mouth. It tastes like wine and mint and home.
After seven and a half minutes of staring at the headline, Beckett lets her eyes drop to the article.
New York Times Bestseller, Richard Castle, recently released the highly anticipated continuation of his Nikki Heat series in the form of Deadly Heat. The book picks up right where the last one ended, and is truly a dynamite read, full of suspense and mystery and love-
If she weren't so focused on the ache in her chest, she would roll her eyes. It's nothing but another puff piece. She runs her fingers up the edge of the paper, curling the corner under her thumb and trying to breathe. Her gaze snags on another sentence farther down the page.
As with most of the other Nikki Heat books, Richard Castle has once again dedicated his work to muse and NYPD detective, Kate Beckett.
Everything stops.
Why? He would have had time to change it. He should have...Beckett fumbles with the newspaper, searching for any other mention of the dedication, any indication of what it might say.
Nothing.
She drops the paper, pages scattering around her feet and sliding across the wood flooring. Vaguely, she realizes that she’s shaking.
She’s going to have to go buy the damn thing now.
By the time she gets to the bookstore, the shaking has reduced to a mostly imperceptible tremor in her hands. Even so, it takes a few moments before she's able to make her way toward the table full of all things Richard Castle.
She's faced down hundreds of criminals, why is this suddenly so hard?
She circles the table, eyes skimming over Derrick Storm books and pausing momentarily on each of the familiar silhouettes of her alter ego, until she finds the newest addition. The cover is dark pink and Nikki is still naked, even after all this time. Beckett huffs out a laugh that comes out more like a sob. Some things never change.
"Oh!" An excited voice bursts out from behind her. "Are you a fan of his writing too?"
Beckett turns, spotting the bookshop employee just over her shoulder. "Yeah, I am." She cringes as they look at each other, waiting for the inevitable look of realization to dawn across the girl's face.
It doesn't come.
The employee smiles widely. "I love his Nikki Heat series. Did you know they're based on a real cop?"
"I did, yeah," Beckett says, turning back to the table and carefully picking up Deadly Heat as the girl continues.
"She's a NYPD detective. Really badass, apparently. Although I guess you would have to be, to catch Richard Castle's attention." Without even pausing for breath, she notices the book in Beckett's hands, nods, and then motions for her to walk towards the checkout. "But there's a rumor going around that she's not in New York anymore, that she took a job somewhere else."
Beckett almost drops the book. "Really?" she asks, handing her purchase over to the employee so she can scan it.
The girl nods enthusiastically. "Yeah. Can you believe it? Why would anyone want to leave the presence of a man who's writing a book about them? Especially a guy as hot as Richard Castle." She hands the book back to Beckett, her face twisting at the injustice of it all.
"I don't know," Beckett manages, swallowing roughly against the tightening in her throat.
"Me neither." The girl shakes her head. "I'd love to have a guy write a series of books about me."
"Yeah," Beckett says, "me too."
When she finally returns home, her fingers clutched tightly around Castle’s new book, she doesn’t wait long to open her purchase. In fact, she makes it just inside the door before she has the cover open. It’s when she goes to turn to the dedication page that she reaches a problem.
What if she’d be better off not knowing what he has to say? What if all that’s left of their relationship is venom and resentment? What if he poured all that into a dedication? She imagines it as bitter and cutting, something angry and hopeless that will follow her around forever. (That’s not how she wants to remember him. When she thinks of him she wants to see Castle tangled in her bed sheets, hair flopping in front of his eyes, or Castle spinning a theory, face bright and beautiful and everything she’s ever wanted.)
Beckett takes a deep breath, and flips the page.
She has to read it several times before she believes what she’s seeing.
To KB. Third time’s the charm.
Warmth and melancholy coil high in her throat. Oh, Castle. She runs her fingers over the page, trying to stop herself from imagining everything they could have been, because she is alone and in DC, and she messed up everything. Carefully, as though she might damage the words inside, she closes the book, her gaze inevitably landing upon the name on the front cover.
There’s only one thing for her to do.
The elevator doors slide open smoothly, and for a moment, Beckett stops between them, halfway out onto the floor. She can’t do this. The realization slides down her back like ice. What if this is the wrong decision? What if she already lost her chance? Whatifwhatifwhatif.
(Life never delivers anything we can’t handle.)
She fumbles for her mother’s ring, skimming her fingers along the chain that holds it in place, and then she steps out into the hallway. It seems like a lifetime ago that she walked this path drenched in rain, her mind stuttering over the same phrase on a loop. I just want you, I just want you. She reaches his door and discovers that she’s not breathing.
Before she can even raise her hand to knock, the door swings open on its own.
And there he is, broad shouldered and blue-eyed and wonderful. He makes her heart stop. “Beckett?”
“Hey, Castle.”